


Turnabout Is Fair Play

by tonepoem



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Face-Fucking, M/M, Magic, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 18:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10195745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonepoem/pseuds/tonepoem
Summary: A summoning goes awry.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wednesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/gifts).



Zemuel took a deep breath and wiped his palms against his apprentice's robes. When he'd first come to the Arcane Academy, he'd had difficulty getting accustomed to the austerity of the surroundings, the roughness of the robes that he was obliged to wear. He kept that to himself, of course. The Academy accepted its candidates based on merit, and he didn't want to invite the envy of his fellow apprentices by letting slip that he was a prosperous merchant's son. (It came out anyway--he wasn't good at concealing his accent--but at least he wasn't rubbing it in.)

The pentagonal room they'd locked him in was similarly plain, with the exception of the mirror. It dominated one of the walls, with a frame of gold-leaf scrollwork, unclouded glass of quality Zemuel wouldn't have expected to see outside a palace. In it he could see his reflection, the way the robe hung loosely off his coltish frame, his dark eyes and neatly trimmed hair.

His task was to summon a spirit from the mirror-realm and bind it to his will, as a first test of his fitness for the Academy. Tricky business, and not without risk. Mirror spirits were known for their love of pranks. The test was not just of Zemuel's memorization of the necessary rituals, but of his wits and discipline.

Steeling himself, Zemuel stripped naked and folded his robe, then set it aside on a table provided for that purpose. The air was cold against his pale skin, and he shivered. He couldn't let the environment distract him, however. He unstoppered a vial of oil and anointed himself: brow, heart, navel, groin. His cock roused at the slick sensation of the dripping oil, but he forced himself to ignore it and continue.

Replacing the vial, he picked up a piece of chalk and bent to draw the pentagram upon the stone floor. Long practice ensured that the lines came out straight, that his hand was steady. Once he had completed the pentagram, he began writing spell-words around its boundaries, muttering incantations as he did so, despite the distracting erection that he was beginning to sport. He'd heard that mirror spirits were uncommonly fair to look upon; had dreamt, the night before, of one capturing him in a heady embrace. A slow flush crept up his cheeks and the back of his neck, and he shook away the thought. He had to concentrate.

Damn. He'd lost his place in the chants. He had to do better than this. Zemuel took a deep breath, ignoring the ache in his balls, then resumed.

In spite of his best intentions, his thoughts flitted back toward the dream that had entranced him. He'd woken with his cock hard and aching, tempted to masturbate to give himself some release. But he'd instead gone to the morning services with the other apprentice arcanists, and sat down to breakfast, and settled in to cram at the last minute for this examination. He was paying the price now.

Zemuel reinspected the pentagram for any breaks, the spell-words for any errors. Everything looked fine, although it was still difficult to concentrate. He took another deep breath, then spoke the final chant that would summon the spirit and bind it to the pentagram.

A haze of mist and shadow coalesced inside the pentagram. At first it had no particular shape but, perhaps, the shape of misgivings. Then it sharpened into the silhouette of a man taller than Zemuel, broad-shouldered, deliciously muscular. The shadows receded, and the mirror spirit was revealed--

Except something had gone wrong. Zemuel was dimly aware that he should be worried. A mirror spirit should look just like him, gangly and dark-haired, except with silver eyes. Whatever he had summoned, on the other hand, was larger in every direction, with unearthly pale blond hair and equally unnerving eyes the color of red wine. Zemuel caught himself staring at the newcomer's groin. The other man (if it was a man in truth; highly doubtful) had an immense prick, even flaccid. Involuntarily, Zemuel licked his lips and felt heat spread throughout his entire body, a flush warming his skin.

The man smiled at him. He had a red mouth with perfect teeth, slightly sharp. "You had such tasty dreams," he said in a voice as rich and thick as slow honey. He stepped forward, although he didn't attempt to breach the pentagram. Instead, he lifted a hand and gestured downward.

Zemuel made no attempt to cover himself; it was too late to hide his arousal. "What are you?" he whispered.

"You called and I came," the man said. "Really, I'll be so much better for you than the boring mirrorling you had in mind."

A small voice in the back of his head told Zemuel that he should speak the words of unsummoning, that he was in terrible danger. But he was transfixed by the wine-colored eyes and the promises in them. "Better how?" he said in spite of himself.

The man took another small step, just reaching the boundary of the pentagram. "Come closer," he said, "and I'll show you."

 _Don't do this,_ the small voice begged. But Zemuel had stopped caring. Breathing hard, his heart thumping, he approached the boundary. Stopped. He wasn't so far gone--yet--that he would break the chalked line, the words of binding.

"What do you have to fear?" the man said, his voice a caress. "Everything is under your control. I can't do anything to you unless you want me to."

Zemuel trembled when the man said _want_. He imagined that red mouth upon his, those broad, strong hands marking him. Without taking his gaze from the man's, he leaned closer. So long as he didn't break the line, he was safe. He could claim a kiss, if he wanted.

The man reached out and traced Zemuel's jawline, then stopped abruptly, thumb digging in so hard that Zemuel was afraid there would be bruises. To his shock, the sensation only turned him on more. A whimper caught in his throat.

Their lips met in a savage kiss. The man bit down on Zemuel's tongue, just hard enough to draw blood. The salt-copper taste intoxicated him in ways he had never dreamt of before.

Zemuel drew back, breathing hard. "What _are_ you?"

The man laughed at him. "You haven't guessed?"

He'd known the moment those wine-colored eyes transfixed him, even if he'd been in denial. _Incubus._ He stared at the man, then raised a hand to his mouth. His fingers came away blood-smeared, red like hectic blossoms.

More than that, however, Zemuel was painfully aware of the way his cock throbbed, bobbing in the cool air. He yearned to reached down and stroke himself, find some form of release. Yearned to beg the incubus for pleasures he'd only heard whispered of in the Academy's halls.

The incubus, of course, could read the unsubtle currents of Zemuel's desires. In a single boneless motion he knelt before Zemuel and laid his hands roughly upon Zemuel's slender hips. There would be more bruises, marks of forbidden congress.

Zemuel felt himself flush again, the entirety of his body heating, pulse pounding. "I shouldn't--"

"Of course you _shouldn't_ ," the incubus said amiably. "But what demon deals in _should_?" And with that, his hands slid down to grasp the base of Zemuel's cock, guiding its head into his mouth.

Zemuel gasped as the incubus sucked on his dick, teeth rasping harshly against his shaft. Every sensation felt impossibly magnified, and he clenched his hands so the pain would distract him from the unexpected heady pleasure. This backfired; by now even the small pain of fingernails digging into his palms felt good.

The incubus's head moved up and down, up and down, inexorable. Every so often he gave Zemuel's balls a squeeze, then returned to the base of his dick, even as he sucked noisily on Zemuel's aching cock. Zemuel bit his lip, trying to suppress his cries, but to no avail. Within minutes he was moaning and crying out. Surely someone would hear him--but he no longer cared.

By now his hips were bucking, and Zemuel had long since forgotten to be careful of the placement of his feet. One of his toes smeared the line of the pentagram. Even then, the incubus didn't take advantage just yet. Zemuel thrust steadily in and out of the incubus's hot mouth, absorbed in spite of himself by the punctuation of bites, the wet tongue caressing his dick. Lost in the pleasure of the moment, he grabbed the incubus's head roughly and forced it closer to his groin so that he could fuck that moist hole to his satisfaction. The incubus struggled--not hard, but enough to inflame Zemuel's desires. He crushed the incubus's head close and shoved himself down the incubus's throat. At last, with a shout, he began spurting come.

A wave of dizziness overcame him, and he fell heavily to his knees, gasping for breath. He closed his eyes and fought to regain his composure. When his breathing had calmed, he heard the scratching noise of chalk upon stone. _That's odd,_ Zemuel thought, opening his eyes, and looked up.

The incubus smiled at him with those small sharp teeth, then straightened, chalk in hand. By some trick, he was now on the outside of the pentagram, and Zemuel was--

"Oh no," Zemuel said, looking around himself. He was in the center of the pentagram.

"It's my turn, little arcanist," the incubus said, dropping the chalk. His cock was already rampant and large, so large. "Pleasure me just as I pleasured you."

Zemuel inhaled sharply, not a little horrified at the prospect. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to fit that monstrous cock into his mouth. But an unnatural compulsion settled over him, and he approached and knelt in his turn.

The incubus's cock was, in fact, almost too large for him. Any thicker and Zemuel wouldn't have been able to accommodate it. As it was, his jaw ached horribly just stretching around it. Zemuel had just reconciled himself to the situation when the incubus shoved himself down Zemuel's throat.

Zemuel couldn't cry out or protest, of course. The incubus's dick was in too deep for that. Zemuel gagged on the huge intruder even as he sucked the shaft and licked its underside in obedience to the compulsion. Just when he thought he was going to pass out for lack of air, the incubus withdrew a few inches, just enough for Zemuel to gasp for breath before the cycle repeated itself.

Starting to be frightened in earnest, Zemuel tried pulling away, but powerful hands grabbed him by the hair and shoulder and held him fast. Instead, he was forced to service the incubus's pulsing cock, prisoner to the demon's insatiable desires. He didn't know how long he endured, licking and sucking, spots swimming in front of his eyes from lack of air, his world reduced to the single necessity of servicing the demon he had mistakenly summoned. The hell of it was, the combination of pain and pressure and lack of air turned him on. Even though he'd just come, his dick was hard again. He knew how wrong it was to succumb like this, but he couldn't seem to help himself, even as a corner of his mind cried out in horror.

After what seemed an eternity of being brutally fucked in the face, Zemuel felt the incubus's hands spasm. _Oh no,_ he thought, _I can't do this--_ except he had no choice. He braced himself as the incubus blasted wave after wave of hot come down his throat. Even then the incubus's grip didn't loosen, and Zemuel was forced to swallow as much as he could before the sheer volume of come caused it to dribble out of his mouth and down his chest onto the floor.

At last the incubus withdrew. "Not bad for a first time," he said, smiling with those pointed teeth. "You will make an entertaining pet."

A small whimper escaped Zemuel as he looked up at his new master.

In the morning, when the master arcanists opened the examination room, there was nothing inside except an empty pentagram and some telltale semen stains on the floor.


End file.
